


Grief

by gjwandkids



Series: The Right Thing... [3]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gjwandkids/pseuds/gjwandkids
Summary: Frank goes to Lallybroch to find Claire's message.
Series: The Right Thing... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712854
Comments: 20
Kudos: 103





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to go with the format of one story about Frank, then one about Claire and Jamie, then Frank etc...
> 
> Reminder. I'm not editing these much, just letting the muse say whatever.
> 
> I'm getting rather interested in the storyline though...

It came in waves. Sometimes, he could make it through an entire day before the grief overwhelmed him. Sometimes he couldn’t make it through breakfast.

The September after Claire left, Frank had tried to go back to Oxford, and teach. It hadn’t gone well. He managed to get through through his classes of course, he was after all a professional. It was outside of class that things fell apart.

Frank drank too much in the evenings, missed office hours, missed department meetings. Finally after two terms of this sort of behavior, he was called into the office of the head of the history department.

The man was firm. “Frank, this can’t continue. Now I don’t know what happened when you went to Scotland, but it is obvious to me that something did. You haven't been the same since you came back.

You need to take some time to work through this, before it damages your career. You’re a brilliant historian Frank and I’d hate to lose you, so I’ve discussed it with administration and I’m sending you on sabbatical. Take next year and work on your book… and work through whatever this is before it swallows you whole.”

Frank didn’t argue. “I'm sorry Tom. I know I’ve not been myself the last several months. I… finally confirmed that my wife was… gone. It’s been very… difficult to come to terms with. I…thought I could..." 

Tom’s expression became sympathetic. “Frank, you should have requested a sabbatical right away. I would have given it to you. Throwing yourself into work sounds all well and good, but it doesn’t really help in the end. When I lost my Margo… well. At any rate Frank, finish up your paperwork for this term. The sabbatical officially begins July 1, however, you are free to go once you’ve turned in your grades. Tom stood, indicating that the conversation was over. Frank stood also. They shook hands.

“Thank you Tom.”

“Good luck to you Frank.”

* * *

For the first two weeks of his sabbatical Frank drank a lot, cried a lot and slept a lot. Then he called Reg. Maybe it was poking at the wound, but Frank thought the best thing for him to do was go back to Scotland and face everything head on.

He hadn’t gone to Lallybroch, or sought out the Bank Of Scotland to see if Claire had left something for him. It was too raw then. Frank now considered that it might have been a mistake not to. Without knowing… truly knowing what became of Claire, the wound just festered. Better to lance it. It would probably hurt a lot, but if he continued on like this, Frank knew he would never be able to heal and move on.

Scotland looked just as he remembered. His car got a flat tire in Inverness, which took some time to repair. It was after midnight by the time he got to the rectory. Reg and Mrs. Graham were both waiting up for him, but Frank was so tired that Mrs. Graham showed him to his room and everyone went to bed.

Frank slept late the next day, not waking up until after 10:00. He showered and dressed before going downstairs into the kitchen. Fiona looked up when he entered.

“Good morning Mr. Randall. Are ye feeling better?”

“Not really Fiona, though I thank you for asking.”

Fiona looked at him for a moment. “Would it help to know what happened to Claire?”

Frank jerked his head up to stare at the housekeeper. “Do you know what happened? After she went… back to him?”

“I ken some of it. Not all. For the whole of the tale ye’d have to go to Lallybroch.”

“It’s still there then. Lallybroch.”

“Aye. Still there and owned by the Frasers.” Fiona hesitated now, not sure if Frank was ready for this information.

“The Fraser family owns several businesses, and is the largest employer west of Inverness.”

“What sort of businesses do they own?” Frank was curious.

“There’s the distillery, which is the oldest; a pharmecutical company, a plant nursery, and a hospital. The Frasers also have a small museum on their family estate, but that’s not really a business as it’s non-profit and runs on donations.”

“I see. How long have the Frasers been in business?”

“I know the distillery has been in operation for close to two hundred years. They’ve been producing whiskey since before the Excise act. I dinna ken about the rest.”

“How far is Lallybroch from here?” Frank wanted to know.

“It’s about 70 kilometers.”

“Would the museum be open today?”

“’Tis open every day but Sunday.”

“Mrs. Graham.” Frank swallowed and tried again. “Fiona. Would you be willing to go to Lallybroch with me? I was given the advice that I should confront my grief to better deal with it.

I think it was sound advice… however…and I know this may sound… cowardly of me, but I do not think I can face it alone. It would be… I would appreciate… a sympathetic…" Frank couldn’t continue.

“Aye. Mr. Randall. I can go with ye if ye like. I’ll support ye… and keep yer secrets too. ‘Tis a hard thing yer doin’ and ye should’na have to face it alone.”

“Please, call me Frank. Thank you Fiona.”

“Dinna fash yerself, Frank.” “Now. Why don’t ye eat something and I’ll go tell the Reverend where we’re goin’. He’s already finished his sermon for tomorrow and he can spend the day wit wee Roger. It will be good for the lad to have some undivided attention.”

Frank wasn’t particularly hungry, but did as Fiona had suggested. This would be difficult, he might as well fortify himself for what he was going to discover.

* * *

Fiona drove her car, since she knew the way to Lallybroch. When they arrived, shortly after 2:00, they parked in the small lot next to the museum located at the front of the estate. For estate it was, and a large one.

Frank stood for a moment taking it all in. It was huge and sprawling, with a two story manor house directly behind the museum. There was a small outbuilding that looked to be a garage. A path led from the small house to a much larger manor behind it. The manor house had a large herb garden planted in front, with a series of greenhouses off to the left side and a large stable off to the right. There were smaller livestock areas for pigs and chickens around the stable. Frank could see sheep up on the hill behind the house. He turned to Fiona in confusion.

“Claire gave me to understand that Lallybroch was a small estate. This is not small at all.”

Fiona smiled at him. “Claire was no wrong. Come into the museum, it will answer most of yer questions I think.”

The museum was a modern building, made of wood rather than stone. It was one large long room, and the exhibits were arranged in chronological order. There was a small gift shop area opposite the door and a guest book on a stand in the corner, along with a box for donations.

“Good afternoon to ye.” Said the girl at the counter.

“Good afternoon,” said Frank distractedly. Fiona smiled at the girl and gave a slight shake of her head.

The girl shrugged and went back to her book.

Frank spent the next three hours learning the history of Lallybroch. The small house in front he learned, was the original manor house, built in 1702 by a Brian Fraser. The larger house had been built in 1760 by James Fraser. He had been granted a pardon by King George for his part in the uprising in 1748. ‘Ah, Claire must have found the papers I put in her bag.’ Frank thought to himself.

The rest of the exhibit told the tale of the Fraser family over the centuries. As the estate had grown so had the family. They tended to large families and charitable works. At the end of the exhibit, a number of portraits were hanging on a wall. The oldest portrait was of a man and woman, surrounded by several children. Frank looked, and then gasped.

“Claire.” He whispered, and reached out to touch the portrait.

“Sir!” The girl started to say hurrying over. Fiona put a finger to her lips and shook her head again.

Taking the girl by the arm she drew her away and whispered something into her ear. The girl’s eyes went wide. She stared at Fiona in astonishment. Fiona nodded. The girl nodded back and slipped out the door.

Frank hadn’t heard anything, so focused on the portrait of Claire. She was seated in a chair with a baby on her lap. The tall red haired man stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder. Claire was staring straight ahead, but the man… the man was looking at Claire.

The emotion in his gaze caused something to twist in Frank… and then to relax. It was obvious that this man, this James Fraser was utterly devoted to Claire. Frank counted six children in the portrait, although the oldest didn’t look like the rest. He had dark curly hair like Claire’s, but not her facial features, nor any of Fraser’s. Frank wondered if this was ‘Fergus’. He returned his attention to Claire.

She looks happy, he decided. Of course with a portrait, it depended on the skill of the painter, but he or she put so much detail into Fraser’s expression, that Frank was fairly certain that Claire’s was also accurate. Overall it was a very well done portrait. Looking for the artist’s name he was startled to read… Brianna Ellen Fraser 1762.

“Brianna was their oldest daughter.”

Frank was startled to hear a man’s voice. He turned to see an elderly man had entered the building.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s her, the tallest girl in the portrait, next to Laird Broch Tuarach. She eventually married a Mackenzie lad, Roger. He was a scholar. The Laird took awhile to warm up to him, but Lady Claire, she accepted him straight away. Said he reminded her of her first husband.”

The man gave Frank a shrewd stare. Who if I’m not mistaken...is you.”

“What?!”

“Ye are Franklin Randall are ye no?”

“Yes of course, but how do you know that?”

“The Lady Claire left something for ye. It’s been passed down through the generations along with the tale. She wasn’t sure when ye’d come for it, but we knew it must be getting close. Will ye come up to the main house for some tea? I sent my granddaughter ahead to let the Laird ken.”

Frank looked at Fiona who didn’t look at all surprised. “You knew.”

“Aye. I’m a Murray on my mother’s side. Janet Murray was James Fraser’s sister. We’ve all heard the stories as well and the two families remain close to this day.”

“Did you know before Claire went back?”

“Yes Frank, I did. Do ye remember me asking if Claire had marrit Red Jamie?”

Frank did remember that. “Yes. Why didn’t you tell me then?!”

“At first I was afraid to change anythin’ so I did’na mention it. To let things play out ye ken. Afterword, ye were so heartsick I did’na want to add to yer grief. I kent that ye would come lookin’ for answers when ye were ready.” Fiona smiled at him gently. “Yer a historian Frank. I kent it would gnaw at ye till ye did.”

Frank thought about that. Fiona was correct, and he couldn’t really fault her for not wanting to make things worse. He looked at the elderly man. “Yes. I will come with you Mr.?”

“Ian Murray. There are a number of Ian’s going back to the first Ian what marrit Laird Broch Tuarach’s sister Janet.”

“Mr. Murray. Thank you. I would like to see what Claire left for me.”

“This way then Mr. Randall. Fiona, ye comin’ too? I ken the Missus would love a catch up.”

“Aye. I came with Mr. Randall.”

With Mr. Murray leading the way, the trio made their way to the large manor house. Fiona stopped at the smaller house, to visit with Mrs. Murray.

“You live in the smaller house then?” Frank asked Mr. Murray

“Aye. Murrays live in the little house and Frasers live in the big house. It’s passed down to the eldest child in each generation since after Culloden.

“That’s unusual isn’t it? Girls weren’t usually allowed to inherit until recently.”

“Aye. The Lady Claire insisted though, and the first Mrs. Murray backed her up. According to family history they were both strong willed women, and their men tended to listen to them.”

Frank laughed at that. “Yes, I can well imagine Claire insisting girls should inherit equally. She’s very stubborn when she puts her mind to something.”

Mr. Murray looked at him askance, but didn’t reply.

Upon reaching the ‘big house’, Mr. Murray knocked on the door which was opened by the girl from the museum. “I told Lady Ellen, grandda. She’s in the library.”

“Good, thank ye Rebecca. Gie on back to the museum now.” The girl held the door for them and then left, closing it behind her.

“Ellen Menzies Fraser is the Laird Broch Tuarach of this generation. She’s the eldest ye ken. Her husband’s name is Tobias Menzies, but the Laird must keep the Fraser name to inherit. That was the one thing Laird James insisted upon.”

* * *

The Lady Ellen Fraser was in her sixties. A tall woman, she was beautiful with rich auburn hair that she wore up. Offering her hand, she greeted Frank.

Frank shook her hand, and looked for Claire. He found her in the shape and color of the woman’s eyes.

“You have her eyes” he said dumbly.

“Yes. I used to stare at her portrait for hours when I was a child. I was very lucky. Most of the family takes after the Fraser side. It’s very rare that someone get’s Mother Claire’s eyes.”

“Mother Claire? You call her Mother Claire?”

“That was her title along with Lady Broch Tuarach. Mother Claire is a legend in this area. She was a healer and performed so many miraculous healings, that people began to call her that, even before she died.

Lady Claire was accused of witchcraft by a Mackenzie once, before Laird James brought her home. To the people of Lallybroch, she was revered as a healer.”

“You seem remarkably well informed on an ancestor that is so far removed from you.” Frank observed.

“Please have a seat Mr. Randall. Ian, you are welcome to stay as well.”

“Aye if ye dinna mind Ellen. Fiona came with Mr. Randall. She and Mary will be having a good gossip with their tea. I’d just be in way.” Ian grumbled good-naturedly. Ellen nodded.

After pouring the tea, she answered Frank’s unspoken question.

“Mr. Randall, I ken this seems unusual or fantastic to ye. Mother Claire’s history has been passed to every Laird that inherits. Everyone in both families are told the tales ye ken, but whoever inherits is given the entire story. Mother Claire kent ye’d come looking for her message one day, and she did’na want it to get lost. Our family’s good fortune is due to ye after all. Mother Claire and Laird James wanted to make sure ye knew they were thankful for it.”

“Due to me? I hardly think that’s the truth. It was Claire’s inheritance after all. I just converted it into usable currency for her.”

“I dinna mean that, although that’s part of it.” “I meant ye sending Claire back with the papers that granted Laird James his pardon. According to the family histories, Laird James prayed for ye in Thanksgiving every night of his life after Claire returned to him.”

Ellen paused and shook her head. “I’m tellin’ it all backwards.” She pointed to a rather large box, or a small trunk on the floor next to her. “It’ll make more sense if ye just read the journals.”

“Journals!?” “Claire left journals for me?”

“Aye, as did Laird James and all their children. Every Laird or Lady for every generation has kept a journal of the history of the estate. We have copies in the Laird’s study, but all the originals go into boxes. They’ve been kept for ye as Mother Claire insisted they be. This box is the oldest, I thought ye'd like to read Mother Claire's journals first.”

Frank was flabbergasted. When Claire had left, she had been focused on getting back to her Jamie.

Frank was convinced she would have forgotten all about him. “Claire insisted they be kept for me?”

“Yes. You are a historian are ye no?” Ellen inquired.

“I am, yes.”

“Well, Claire kent that. She said this was her way of repayin’ ye for all ye did fer our family.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a knock on the door. Fiona entered with two stocky young men.

“Ah. Fiona. How are ye my dear?”

“I’m well Lady Fraser, and yerself?”

“Still terribly busy. Training up wee Jamie is giving me a bit of hope that I can retire in the next five years or so. I’m ready to turn things over to him and he’s coming along nicely.”

“The trunk is just there my lads. If ye could take it down to cousin Fiona’s car I’d be grateful to ye.”

“Aye Nana, we’ll do it now.” The two men lifted the trunk and left the room. Fiona and Ian following them. Ellen rose gracefully to her feet.

“Mr. Randall, it’s been a pleasure to meet ye. If ye have any questions after ye’ve read what’s in the trunk I’d be happy to try and answer them for ye. Ye are also welcome to come back and retrieve the others or I can have them sent to ye when you're ready for them. Now however, I need to be gettin’ back to the main office. Young Jamie is eager, but no yet ready to take the reins on his own ye ken.”

Frank rose also. “I quite understand Lady Broch-Tuarach. Thank you very much for making time for me. I know my visit was unexpected.”

“Yes, and no. We’ve been expecting ye since last summer.”

“Yes, well… I wasn’t quite ready before.”

“Dinna fash. I’ve read the journals. So I ken, ye gave Mother Claire her happiness at the expense of yer own.” Ellen paused. “Ye gave generations of my family prosperity and peace Mr. Randall. ‘Tis the very least I could do, takin a few moments to speak with ye and give ye the journals. I hope they gie ye peace o mind.” So saying, she escorted him to the front door, where Ian was waiting to take him back to the car.

On the drive back home, Frank didn’t say anything, just turned over in his head all the information he had received that day. Claire it seems, did care for him a little. Mere gratitude did not explain the lengths that she went to for him.

From a historical standpoint, the journals in Fiona’s trunk were worth more than their weight in gold. An unbroken, first person account of an estate in the Scottish Highlands from 1746 to the present. If authenticated, Frank would have enough material to publish for the rest of his career.

Frank wasn’t sure what he would find in that trunk. He couldn’t wait to find out.


End file.
